The Madness of Mrs T
by robspace54
Summary: Sally Tishell was complicated, everyone in the village knew that. She could be prickly, mercurial, morose, or happy. But just how complicated was known to no one.
1. Chapter 1

**The Madness of Mrs. T**

by robspace54

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

Chapter 1 – Tales

His strong hand roved from her waist, up her side, and then to her neckline. The large, strong fingers played briefly with the top of her nightdress, then moved up to her ear. She lay quite still, enjoying his gentle touch, but her breath caught in her throat when his hand slowly trailed down her neck to her shoulder, and then to her bosom which was swollen and warm with desire.

"Oh Martin," she moaned.

"Sal? you still readin'? Can I switch off the light?" Clive asked, disturbing Sally from her imaginings. He had rolled onto his side and was reaching towards the bedtable where the lone lamp shone in their bedroom.

"Clive!" Sally said, taking a half-swipe with the paperbound book at her husband's shoulder.

"Ought not to waste electricity," he added, looking up at her from under raised eyebrows.

"Fine! Fine," she said through gritted teeth. She closed the book with a snap, tossed it across the room and turned away from Clive. She jabbed at her pillow several times, then dropped her head with a thump on it.

Clive switched off the light and asked, "Have I upset you, Sal?"

She snapped back, "No," in a frosty tone. "My book just slipped, is all."

Clive replied, "Right." Then he yawned.

She turned to stare at him. "So, I can't read my book? Because _you_ want to sleep."

He froze, for Sal was in one of her dark moods and had been since this afternoon. He ran back through his memories. Her bad disposition had started about when Louisa and Ruth Ellingham came into the shop for calamine lotion – said that little James Henry had a rash.

Clive was cleaning the shop windows so he could see how his wife's demeanor had shifted from happily chatting with Mrs. Rudd, who was just leaving with her medications, into guarded wariness as she faced the Ellingham women.

Of course, he _had_ heard about what happened when he was away; Sal having taken the Doc and Louisa's son to the Castle. That was when her breakdown had started. But they said it was the drugs she was takin' which had caused it. But she was fine now; been through her probation with the pharmacy board – and all that.

Sal would be very careful around Louisa Ellingham no doubt, and with the Doc's aunt being a psychiatrist it stood to reason that she'd be extra alert. How to act and what to say. After the two women left, Sal started yelling at him how he was doing a bad job on the windows. Streaks, blotches! She'd ripped the Windolene spray bottle out of his left hand, snatched the cleaning rag from his right, and told him to go and find something else to do.

Clive took a deep breath. "Sorry Sal." He got up, retrieved her book from where she thrown it, and handed it to her. It was one of her romance books; the ones she liked to read at bedtime. He returned to his side and the bed, and turned the lamp back on. "You…. go right ahead and read. I'll just lie in bed quietly."

Sally thumbed through the romance book until she found the page where Clive had interrupted her. She put a finger between the pages to mark the place. "Good night, Clive," she said.

"Night, Sal," Clive answered. He gave her a quick peck on the lips. Her lips were dry and hard. "I love you."

She ducked her head. "I know that."

He waited a second for more response then he lowered his head to his pillow. "You have _no_ idea how much I love bein' off the oil rig. No high-pitched compressors. pounding waves, screaming winds, or yellin' supervisors. Ahhh."

She nodded her head. "Glad to have you home," she said. Then she put the book on her bedtable. "You can turn out the light now."

"But I thought you wanted to read?"

She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "No."

Laying on his back, Clive saw the faint smile she gave him and her blue eyes were wide. He did as directed, and the room went dim, lit by the full moon. He looked at her face again. "How are you?'

She pulled back. "How am I? I'm fine." Her arm reached across his broad chest and rubbed it. "And how are you?"

"I'm… quite well, Sal."

She put her mouth to his ear and whispered, "We could… be together?"

That made him chuckle. Then he rolled onto his side to face her. "That would be _marvelous_, Sal." He put his lips to her cheek and kissed it enthusiastically.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Louisa Glasson

Sally knew that she had strongly been drawn to the new Doc. He was tall, strong, and handsome in a rugged way, plus his medical knowledge and analytical intellect appealed to the cerebral side of her mind. Not that Doc Sim hadn't also been a medical attraction to her, for he had. He'd come into the back of the chemist shop for a cuppa and a chat over medicines and journals. But Doc Sim had been drawn romantically towards younger women, like that Cathy Spears or especially Lady Brading. So, Sally had never felt the joyful feel she got from Doctor Ellingham with the previous GP.

But then there was Louisa Glasson. Young, dark, and lissome, that one had drawn the Doc towards herself. Sally had hoped that Louisa'd marry Danny Steel and be off the sell rack, but that hadn't happened. Instead, Sally had to wistfully watch the mating dance between Dr. Ellingham and the new Head Teacher.

Observing those two approach and retreat with one another, she'd rejoiced in their every gossiped breakup, but felt her spirits sank when they actually tried dating. Oh, but the Doc was not suited for Miss Glasson; not at all! Them Glasson's were so low-brow. Why her father had been a thief, her mother had run away with a _Spaniard_, of all people, and although there were those in the village who supported and cheered Louisa on, Sally knew in her heart of hearts that Louisa would fail. The Doc would be true to himself – yes, that was it – and he was suited for a more _refined_ woman. Sally had preened herself over this thought. Wasn't she well read, smart, the village's only Chemist? Why it stood to reason that the Chemist and the village GP would be simpatico. Yes – simpatico – a perfect word! They were both medical people, shared interests and all that.

And then news flew through the village that Louisa and the Doc were engaged! Worse though, as Dave the Postman told her, he'd dropped the mail off on a certain morning and there was the Doc aleavin' Louisa's house; and she was in her dressin' gown and he'd seen them kiss. Oh yes, Dave had stressed, it was obvious they'd done the deed by moonlight.

"I could tell from their eyes," Dave told her. "Like a fire which smoldered a long time but had finally caught flame." Dave had winked as he dropped off the post. "And," here he had fanned his face, "I'm thinkin' it was a mighty hot fire, right? Went on for hours and hours."

Sally's jaw dropped at the news. Dr. Ellingham _with_ Louisa Glasson? Sally had felt betrayed; worse she felt _deceived_. That teacher had worked her young ways on the poor man. Those green eyes and long chestnut hair had finally done it! That night Sally had undressed in the dark, refusing to look at her own body which had let down her goals. Sally didn't like her body, it was thick, frumpy, and saggy in all the wrong places, instead of _springy_ and supple as was Louisa. But Sally was older, more mature, more thoughtful... she tried to tell herself these things, but she sobbed for an hour.

Finally, her self-pity was interrupted by a late-night call from Clive. He asked, "Sal? What is the matter?" Just hay fever, she told him, and her clogged nose and thick throat made her excuse believable.

Sally didn't get any sleep that night for her fervent imagination filled her mind with images of entwined bare bodies doing unspeakable, but oh so pleasurable, things. Martin in bed with Louisa, and not with Sally Tishell.

So, at last a wedding day was set, the church plans made, flowers bought, and people invited. Sally had to practice the wedding music, but she had to bite the inside of her cheek to make it possible to play the notes. And then, a miracle! Louisa didn't come to the church! Oh, glory be!

Later, Pauline told Sally that the Doc had second thoughts too! Well of course he would have! Dr. Ellingham would have realized that marrying the Head Teacher was wrong; a disaster. So that was settled. They broke up – jilted each other at the altar. Oh, the shame, and how the village tongues wagged. Some blamed them both, or one party or other, but Sally knew, just knew, that Louisa was the guilty party. For the Doc was faultless in _all_ things to Sally.

Then, three weeks after the aborted wedding, Louisa _left_ the village. Went up to Town. Good, Sally thought to herself. Good riddance! She felt her anger at the Doc recede and finally disappear. So, she kept giving the Doc news clippings, making not so veiled hints they should discuss journal articles, have a meal, or a coffee. Even baked him a cake or two. But all to no avail, for he remained aloof and alone. Such a shame.

Sally watched all that long winter and early spring as the Doc stayed withdrawn, but she kept hope burning in her heart that he'd ultimately see reason. _Logic_ would prevail in him, she felt. It was just a matter of time until he turned to her for mental comfort, and the rest would follow in due course. Yes, Sally would smirk into her makeup mirror. Time, Sally, give the man time.

Spring weather finally arrived and at last broke the grip of damp and cold. It had been a beautiful day, and Clive had not phoned for two weeks, which she was grateful for, so she'd gone to the pub for a shandy. Just a bit of a celebration, of some sort. Looking back, she'd no idea why it felt that way, but it had. Just a perfect night.

Then it all changed. For Louisa Glasson came into the pub.

No, not came, but _waltzed_ in, proceeded by a pregnant belly and enlarged baps. Everyone in the Crab and Lobster froze. Even the seagulls outside were silent in shock. Sally swallowed hard.

Pregnant! Louisa was pregnant! That trollop heading off to London, getting herself preggers, and then came prancing back to Portwenn, without a care in the world! Why just look at her drinking a glass of water at the bar, while she arranged with Tom for a room that night! It was awful and horrible; a sign of how brazen that hussy could be! Met some man in a grungy bar up in London, no doubt. One sordid night of dirty sex, and this was the result! Serves her right! Now they'd all get to watch the high-and-mighty former Head teacher get fat and slow, waddling around carrying her out-of-wedlock baby in her belly.

But what did Louisa just say? Louisa had talked to the Doc? And told him the news. It was _his_ baby? The Doc's? No, no! It could _not_ be. Had to be a mistake! Must be!

From the size of her bump she had be about six months along, and that _would_ fit the happenings last autumn. So, it must to be true, unless Louisa was playing some feminist point-scoring mind-game on the Doc and the entire village.

But it seemed to be true. Louisa and the Doc had made a baby. Now they'll be stuck together, no matter what. Sally felt her eyes go wide. Oh my God, she thought, all her plans fracturing before her eyes.

Sally watched as Louisa followed Tom to the stairs. The two of them went upstairs and as their footsteps faded overhead, an excited buzz of conversation in the pub sprang up.

Sally felt her heart drop to her shoes, and her stomach jump into her throat, as the room spun. Her vision grew dark as the world went far away and she felt herself falling. A sharp crack of her head on the tile punctuated the moment, followed by one hazy thought just before it all went black.

Sally _hated_ Louisa Glasson. Hate. It was a _good_ word; a very proper and fit word. The word rolled around in her mind, and it tasted good, until she faded into the welcoming darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Treatment

"Modafinil AND Paroxetine?" repeated Dr. Hemmings.

"Yes," I answered.

"Both at the same time?"

My hands got sweaty as they clutched each other. "Yes, sometimes… not always."

Hemmings frowned. "You ought to have known that combination was contraindicated. And you were not prescribed either of the drugs."

I nodded in assent. "I… I am… was… aware of that yes. Facts." I'd been locked up for three days now since the James Henry incident. I didn't like the place I was in, but it was my own fault. Sally, I said to myself, it is time to take your punishment. I steeled myself for what was to come.

"But you took them anyway," Hemmings said.

I took a deep breath. "Ah… that is true."

The frumpy-looking brunette looked down at my file. "Were there _other_ times that you took any medications that were not prescribed to you?"

I fixed the doctor with an icy stare. "I am I NOT a drug abuser!"

My therapist looked quite hard at me. "But _this_ time, Mrs. Tishell, you were, or are."

"I won't do it again."

"Not if you wish to be employed as a chemist, you won't." She clicked her pen several times, the sound echoing off the hard walls of the bare therapy room. "How long had you been taking Paroxetine? And why?"

"Ten weeks, plus two days."

She stared at me. "Rather exact."

"And I took them because I could not stop thinking about the village GP."

"So, you were taking Paroxetine to try and break a repetitive thought-cycle?"

"Exactly. Paroxetine is often used in obsessive-compulsive behavior treatment."

"And just how did the GP figure in your thoughts?"

"Well... I'm a married woman. It wasn't… very nice of me to be doing so…. to be… ahem, _thinking_ of our GP. Not in _that_ way." The dreams about Martin were both vivid and satisfying – and yet _not_ sufficient. Dreams cannot substitute for reality. The hard plastic chair bit into the back of my lower legs – and that was reality.

Hemmings scratched a note on her pad. "Back to the drugs; and why Modafinil? Paroxetine keep you up?"

"Paroxetine made me jittery, so of course I wasn't sleeping well, and during the day I couldn't keep my eyes open, so I started… uhm, to take Modafinil."

"A stimulant." Hemmings sighed through her thin nose in a whistle. "And that kept you going."

"Why, yes."

Hemmings turned a page in my file. "And then you took the GP's baby – unauthorized taking."

"It wasn't kidnapping. I was minding James Henry. I'd _never_ hurt him."

Hemmings dropped her eyes to the file. "Says here no charges were filed."

"Oh… I, uhm, well, that's good." I didn't know that. Perhaps there was a way out this mess. "So, nothing criminal then? Well that's good, isn't it?"

Hemmings' pen clicked again. "Setting aside the criminality of using off-script controlled substances."

There is that. "But that's why I'm here; with you. To sort this."

"The Pharmacy Board takes a very dim view of chemists who abuse the profession and position."

"But I accepted this course of… treatment. And voluntarily, I might add."

Dr. Hemmings clicked the cursed pen six more times. "And when you took this child_, James Henry Ellingham_, just what were you thinking? What were your intentions?"

My turn to sigh. "That was very odd behavior for me to do, I know that. You see I was a replacement child-minder for the Ellingham's that afternoon, and then I got the idea that Dr. Ellingham was… was…" I had to gasp for air. "Was going to meet me for a romantic encounter."

"At a remote place."

"Not _that_ remote. It wasn't anything tawdry… such as an out of the way hotel. But I will admit – have admitted several times – I was wrong in my behavior; confused, almost had a mania about it. But I maintain it was a _delusion_."

"Or a psychotic break, brought on by the drug interaction and a lack of sleep." Hemmings scratched another note. "CBT - Cognitive Behavioral Therapy is what I usually order; in cases such as yours."

Oh? Now I'm a _case_? "Fine," I forced myself to say softly. "As you wish."

She closed my file with a snap. "CBT* may be most useful, now that you are not taking any drugs."

Not since they tranquilized me by injection upon my arrival, but I had been quite agitated. "Fine. Good."

Dr. Hemmings said one thing more. "If you wish to contact your husband by telephone, I will allow it. One call per week. The ward Matron can set it up for you."

"Oh, right," I muttered. "Clive…"

**Note:**

*** CBT is a psychotherapy treatment. Its goal is to change patterns of thinking or behavior that are behind people's difficulties.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Love

"Sal, how did this happen?" I heard my husband ask. "This isn't like you to steal other people's children."

As if I did it on a regular basis. "Clive, I told you I was..."

"Confused, you said," he muttered.

I sighed, as the Matron looked at me across the room as she tapped her watch. "Clive, I won't be able to talk much longer. But yes, confused, is a good word." As good as any, I thought to myself.

"People been askin' about you. What's happened, all that."

I heard him sniffle, so I asked him, "And how are you holding up?"

There was silence for a few seconds, and then he laughed. "Perfect; right as rain, you know me - but I'm worried about my Sal, of course."

Just like Clive to minimize his own feelings.

"But just how long will you be... away?" he next asked.

"I. I don't know exactly. Perhaps..." The doctor and therapist were very canny when I asked the question of them. "A few weeks, or perhaps... longer." I said this last part very softly.

"Right. Oh and there was somebody who called other day, askin' for access to the Chemist Shop."

I exploded. "What? That is outrageous!" I suppose my voice had got loud for the Matron slapped the desk in irritation. So, I lowered my voice. "Clive, just do as they say. Give them the keys, for the village can't go to Wadebridge all the time. Not that far... but if Doctor Ellingham would need something on an urgent basis... then then... uhm... just..."

"About that I'm thinking to go back on the rigs for a while. Always lookin' for experienced men..." he coughed, "while you're away."

I took a deep breath. Clive had always worked away from Cornwall, for years and years. The North Sea oil rigs where just one of many faraway places. Funny that each job took him further and further from the village. "That might be for the best. But you will come see me before you go?"

All I heard was a sniffle.

"Clive... I do miss you, you know," I added.

He replied, "I... I do _love_ you Sal, and I _always_ will."

My breath caught in my throat. "You do? Even after... what I done?"

"Yes, you silly girl, especially now. You're my wife, Sally Tischell, and always will be. Right?"

The Matron walked to me and then snapped her fingers, holding out her hand to take the handset from me.

"You will come to see me? Before you go up North?" I said it point blank.

There was a click and he was gone. I meekly gave the phone to the Matron, wiping at my too-wet eyes.

"Have a nice chat?" the woman asked.

"Oh, yes, lovely," I lied. "Always nice to hear from home." I stood up and fled back to my bare little room where I could cry in private.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Group Session

The five people in the room stared at me, with a mixture of both curiosity and boredom.

I hate these things, I thought, as I tried to keep my face impassive, with my hands flat on my lap. "I..." I had to take a deep breath before I continued, "I did some things, I should not have done. So, I am here for self-medicating."

The man to my right coughed. "That all?"

"Not a paragon of virture youself, are you Gerald? She's new, so give her some slack," interjected the woman sitting to my left.

I nodded at her with half-thanks. "And I made other bad choices, as well," I finished.

"Fine," Dr. Reynolds, our group theraptist answered. "Thank you, Sally. A good start. Who's next? How about you, Gerald?"

Gerald, a large and beefy man with a jowly face, shook his head. "Somebody else. Come back to me," he snorted.

"Alright," replied Reynolds.

My defender to my left spoke up. "Me. Name's Queenie. Sally here is new, so she likely doesn't know that most of us have been doin' meds. It's ever so much nicer than sayin' we're gotten high, and not from sex n' rock and roll."

"I am not a drug addict!" I fussed at her. "I'd never take opiates; only under doctor's orders!"

"Enough," commanded Reynolds.

I ducked my head. "I did not mean to shout."

The anorexic blonde across from me laughed. "Oh dearie, shout, scream, moan, you go right ahead - anything to break the boredom in here." She tossed her stringy hair. "Name's Sharon, by the way. As for me, I caught my husband shagging the school head-mistress. So, I decided to have a fling myself, or two or three..." Her too-bright eyes bored into mine. "The postman, the co-op owner, our constable. You see my husband is a bit of a stick. Surprised me to no end he strayed." She snatched a strand of her long hair and began to chew it. "I am rather good in bed, you know. Could not understand why he'd go after that cow... who must be all of thirty-five. But I didn't stop there. Nymphomaniac reaction, or so they classify me." Then she smiled a sad smile. "Why did he do it? Why?"

I was shocked to say the least.

Gerald replied, "Sharon, now you are telling tales. _Again_."

Reynolds shook her head at the exchange, but I kept my mouth shut. Don't provoke these people, I said to myself. They have... issues. _Real_ issues.

"Stan? You?" Reynolds asked.

The fourth patient sighed. "Stanley. I get... nervous about things. Like planes, can't stand them, trains as well, and cars, motorbikes. And I won't have a telly in the house, either. Too much high voltage inside. Now cats - a cat you can trust. My cats never make me nervous; ever."

They were barmy, all of them.

Stan cleared his throat. "So therefore I cannot work."

Poor man, I thought, the idea of their madness now turning to pity.

Gerald coughed. "Now, Sally, you see we all are a little off kilter, right? As for me, I steal things. Can't help it. Now if you got anything of value in this bloody doolally bin, you best hide it. And you want to know the funny thing? I'm a copper; a police constable _and_ a thief. Pitiful, right?"

I hoped they might pity Sally Tishell, as well.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Away

"I knew it was wrong, even when I was doing it," I sighed to the therapist. I looked hard at her, looking for a sign of affirmation – agreement – that I had done it, and that I admitted it.

Dr. Hemmings was looking towards the draped window and repeatedly clicking her pen. It was an irritating sound. Some of the patients called her _Doctor Click_ behind her back.

"Did you hear what I said? I… actually…" my voice ground to a halt for no air would now come out.

"Yes, Sally," she answered slowly, and then her neck turned her head to face me and she was smiling. "Wonderful." Her pen clicked three times and then she put it down. "So all that time at 'the Castle.'"

"Oh yes, _of course_ I _knew_ it was _wrong_. How could I not? I was raised right. But it felt good. Wrong, but good. That must sound mad. Does that make me mad?"

Hemmings shook her head. "No. Then you were confused, but now you can properly evaluate your past actions with the light of reason, and you have now admitted it was a wrong action. This is a _very_ _important_ step in your rehabilitation and therapy." She jotted on her notepad. "Very good, that."

I nodded at her, feeling a smile come to my face. "Yes." I took a deep breath and it felt good. "It is, isn't it? Feels… good." Like a weight had come off my shoulders.

Hemmings brushed her long brown hair from her face as she leaned forward. "Getting that out. Letting it fly away."

Her words made me stop for a moment. Fly? "Yessss. That's it. Like a _bird_," I said after a few seconds of quiet.

"Exactly."

I looked at her as the silence grew. There was nothing more to be said. Like a bird. But what sort of bird? Swan? Chough? Haven't see one of them in a good old time. A snipe? Maybe a herring gull. "I _don't_ like _gulls_," I said.

"And why is that?"

I shrugged. "Oh, you know. Too many. They are noisy, dirty birds - make messes all about. My word they wake up before the dawn cackling like mad." But living in the village gulls were always there and about, flying, nesting, feeding, calling, or snatching a pasty from the hand of the unwary. "But I grew up in a small village. On the coast. Always gulls there. Especially with the fishing boats."

"Portwenn," prompted Hemmings.

"Yes, my mum ran the Chemist, and my gran afore her. Been in my family for years and years. Always been there. Little village. Whole life."

Hemmings tipped her head. "And the women were the chemists?"

"Since 1933," I told her. "You do know it was Margaret Elizabeth Buchanan who was the first woman to be elected to the Council of the Pharmaceutical Society of Great Britain? And that was in 1918. Imagine that! Ten years before we women got to vote in all ways, like the men. But there was Margaret Buchanan, high up in the Pharmaceutical Society! How I'd like to have met her. Of course, we women got the vote, if we were over thirty, on 6 February 1918." I nodded my head repeatedly. "I always bake a special cake that day. Women got the vote. Gave us a chance to try and fix the mess the men had made."

"Hm," Hemmings added. "You bake a cake."

"Oh yes. A carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. "

"Sounds delish."

"Thank you. It is."

Hemmings looked at her watch. "I think we've made a great step today."

"Or a flight," I told her.

Hemmings giggled, which turned into a laugh that went on and on until she had to wipe a tear. "Oh Sally… Mrs. Tishell, I didn't think that you had it in you."

That made me think. "You're sayin' I'm too serious?" I almost snapped back.

Hemmings smiled as she leaned forward to touch my hand. "Oh no. You are… _proper_."

"Proper? Well I should hope so, as the village Chemist I must be, now don't I? It's a great _responsibility_, for you see me _and_ the village doctor… well…"

"That would be," she looked at her notepad, "Doctor _Ellingham_."

"Yes. That is his name. And a very, _very_ good doctor he is. Oh, the stories I could _tell_. My, my. But that would be tellin' tales out of school." I wagged my finger and shook my head from side-to-side. "Not allowed. Not ever."

Hemmings tipped her head. "Professional ethics. Just like me and my profession. Proper. Tactful. Secret."

"Oh, yes we must. Like a vicar or a priest. A sacred keeping; not meant to be known or seen by others."

Dr. Hemmings sighed. "But sometimes we can let those secrets fly away, out of our heads. Like a bird. Into the wind." She stood and held out her hand in another rare moment of humanity, for she could come across as aloof in this place. Like so many.

I took her hand and it was cool, but she held my fingers firmly. "Thank you."

She gave me a small handshake. Firm, not limp wristed with a soft grip, like too many women. I returned her grasp firmly. "We're professionals, you and me. We understand one another."

"We are," Hemmings answered. "Now, Sally, let's see if next time we can cast other secrets away. Let them fly to where they ought to go."

"Out of my head. And the worry as well."

"Next time," Hemmings. She dropped my hand.

It had been a very rare few seconds of actual human touch in this cold and cheerless place. But you had to be careful in here. People might get too familiar; take advantage. I'd been warned about… such things. _Nasty_ things.

I nodded. "Right." I stood up and walked to the door. "So, I _have_ made _progress_?"

"You have. Good show."

I took a slow breath up my nose. "Good. I needed to hear that. Ta." I walked out the door a little taller then I went in.


End file.
